Long branches of ancient oak, beach and birch arch over the road to An Caidreamh Suiri. Cathaoir flies with gusto across familiar ground toward the barn he knows is waiting at the end of the run. We leave behind clouds of dust and the uncanny feeling of being watched by someone - or something - unwholesome. Shuddering, I grasp the reins and lock my knees firmly on his thighs and try not to think of what might be lurking in the shadows.

Soon we arrive at the MacRoth holdings. Lugh shines brightly down on the lush gardens that surround the inn, heralding the approach of the spectacular Tailtean Games King Cormac holds without fail at Tara each year. The flowers are in full bloom and a gentle breeze plays across my brow. I dismount and breathe deeply of the fragrant air. The woes of the world seem distant in Muma's peaceful land. I stretch my limbs and peer up at the blue sky in time to see a golden eagle soar by. A good sign!

The stable boy seems to appear from nowhere to take my frothing stallion. I hand over the reins along with a silver piece and ask him to take extra care with Cathaoir. The lad beams and assures me he'll guard my horse with his life. I ruffle his hair and head for Kat's. The promise of cheerful company and a hearty meal quickens my pace up the path and through the heavy oaken door. Momentarily blinded by the contrast of light and dark, I hesitate at the threshold until I can see the contours of a familiar old haunt.

"Good day, Katlyne! Is that you Valeria? By the gods it's been a while!"

Lightfooted and a bit lightheaded after the journey, I glide as gracefully as I can manage across the wood floor and plunk myself into a seat at their table. We exchange pleasantries while Meg runs off to fetch my order.

"How are you? And your brothers? Have you seen Conall? I got word from him that he and Briar are married."

On hearing Conall's name, Valeria nods and says she was at their wedding feast in Dunadd. I start pumping her for information, when a one of Kat's patrons interrupts our happy reunion. By his garb he is a landlord, though his clumsy Munster accent tells me he is not from these parts. He is asking after a smith and waving his hand in the air.

A glimmer catches my eye and I take a closer look. It's the mionnfháinne! The distinctive etching and exquisite craftsmanship of the Crúachu sidhe ring is unmistakable. It was designed for the esteemed Connacht Brehon Tlachtga. Her mother, who happens to be a friend of mine, gave it to her when she finished her years of training. Her father is the Munster druid Mug Ruith. My mind races ahead of my tongue as rumours fall into place. The Connacthmen are too far away to fetch, and Kat's strapping brothers are nowhere in sight. My gut instinct tells me to keep my tongue still and my ear to the ground.

"Gabh mo leithscéal!" he repeats impatiently.

"As you can see, good sir, I am not from around here," I say quickly to mask awareness with a plea of ignorance.

Meg's fortuitous arrival interrupts our uneasy commerce. Taking refuge in the cool bilberry wine and savory stew she sets before me, I gladly leave the stranger in Kat's capable hands. Though I say no more, I mull over what the Connachtmen had said about the dangerous pirate Cuinn Dubh Cumhaill. With each bite of stew, I strengthen my reslove to follow this thief wherever he goes and somehow recover Tlachtga's ring. For some unknown reason, food in the stomach builds courage. I must remember to ask Conall if that is why warriors fight over the biggest cut of meat.